Vlad Tepes 'Cruel': A Short Story
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Seven years beyond his treacherous malfeasance, the madman called Ripper, receded behind a wall of anonymity. Upon reflection with tremendous reproach, this butcher roamed free, unobserved among us: to rigorously stain the streets of London a crimson coat. His haunt extended from Whitechapel to Pall-Mall, preying on the working-class woman. By comparison, this brutal display of carnage progressed unrivaled, since Scotland Yard expunged the Fleet Street tonsorial and his bawdy innkeeper. Never a man nor beast more dreadful walk the prestigious Isle of Great Britain, than the monster we'd come to know as Prince Vlad Tepes, the Dracul.
It wasn't until the summer of 1897 my old colleague, John Seward, had summoned me to assist on a peculiar biopsy;